


Your heart for a wish come true

by Tayani



Series: ShuAke Confidant Week [14]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Does it count as pregnancy if they're technically just planting flowers, Fairy Tale Elements, Falling In Love, Folklore, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Non-Explicit Sex, Shuake Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tayani/pseuds/Tayani
Summary: Shuake Week 2020 Day 4 - Festival / Vacations / SeasonsOn Kupalnocka, the Midsummer Eve, Goro Akechi decides to make the one wish he has come true. He will make his father suffer for what he had done to him and his mother, no matter what it takes.Even if he will need to give up his heart for it.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: ShuAke Confidant Week [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1172450
Comments: 84
Kudos: 207





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story includes a lot of elements taken from - not widely known - Polish folklore. I have kept the original names of the creatures mentioned, but for your ease of reading, I've provided a glossary under every chapter including them.
> 
> Enjoy!

_ Kupalnocka, little night _

_ Sobótka is burning bright  _

_ Boys were dancing round and round _

_ Hey, until the morning dawned _

_ Darkness dies in holy fire _

_ Living heat, the flame climbs higher _

_ He who jumps, for whom flames part _

_ He is one of purest heart _

_ Kupalnocka, little night _

_ Sobótka is burning bright _

_ Girls sang to waves underneath _

_ Turned good herbs into a wreath _

_ River, river, holy flow _

_ Carry, please, my wreath down low _

_ And the boy for whom waves part _

_ Takes my wreath, he takes my heart _

_ Kupalnocka, little night _

_ Sobótka is burning bright _

_ Magic night, we all dance through _

_ Water dances, fire does too _

_ Joyous night for wedding day _

_ Magic binds and leads your way _

_ Evil curses fall in vain _

_ Until dawn will come again _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
>   * Kupalnocka (Noc Kupały, St John’s Eve, little night) - a Polish midsummer festival, celebrated on the shortest night of the year, 21-22nd of June. Traditionally celebrated by burning large bonfires, jumping through the fire, dancing, weaving flower crowns and floating them down the river. Kupalnocka is a celebration of fertility, happiness, sun, moon, fire and water.
>   * Sobótka - a large bonfire burnt specifically on Kupalnocka
> 



	2. The Sun

Goro’s eyes burnt.

He had been staring into the horizon for a long time now. Around him, there was song, dance and merriment. Kupalnocka was only starting, and the yearly celebration of summer’s peak and the year’s shortest night was something all of the village had been waiting for. Even now, the scent of delicious roast meats and freshly-baked bread permeated the air. All the unmarried girls from the village were out in the fields, weaving their flower crowns. They would float them down the river later on, and all the boys who fancied a particular girl would wade into the water and fight to grab her flower crown and win her favour. The men were gathering wood for the bonfire and laughing and joking as they practised their jumps over it, for when the fire would be lit and the real jumping would begin.

Every other year, Goro would have been there with them, helping and showing off his own jumps. Every other year, his mother would have dressed him in his best white shirt and embroidered belt and sent him to have fun with a gentle kiss pressed to his cheek.

But his mother was no longer there and Goro himself didn’t feel like having  _ fun  _ anymore. It’d been months since she died, and still, he couldn’t bring himself to as much as crack a smile. He supposed he should feel ashamed - for a man just turned twenty, to mourn the passing of his mother like this. Many boys from the village commented as much.

For Goro, it wasn’t just the case of his mother’s passing, though. It was more than that. It was who was responsible for her death.

No one in the village knew who Goro’s father was. This was the reason so many scorned his mother and him, after all. One day, his mother had come back from the Capital with a child, and had lived there since then, in poverty and disdain.

Until his mother’s dying moments, Goro himself didn’t know who to blame for that. Who was that cruel, ruthless man who threw them. Now he knew - and the knowledge that from a poor boy raised in a tiny hut he suddenly turned into a bastard prince, cheated out of his position didn’t even hit him that hard. What Goro focused on more was the burning, all-encompassing hatred for the ruling king - and the ferocious desire to make him suffer for what he did to them.

Only, right at this moment, a poor peasant that he was, Goro’s wish for revenge against the king of the country was indeed nothing more than a wish. And so - he reasoned - he needed to find a way to make it true.

Everyone in this country and their dog knew the legend of the fern flower. It was a favourite among the old grannies, told with relish to enchant and scare little children. Goro had heard it so many times he knew it by heart - it was one of the few stories his mother was fond of and told him often.

The fern flower was a magical bloom, appearing only once a year, on Kupalnocka. In the peak of summer, it would bloom in the depths of the forest, from dusk till dawn on the shortest night. Find it, pick it up - and it will grant your wish, however outrageous it might be. 

Of course, there was a catch - and there, the old grannies’ faces would become dark and their voices low. For the flower will dip its roots all the way to the heart of the one who finds it. It will measure and judge, and if it finds your intentions unjust or your heart impure, it will destroy you. Your own wishes will be turned against you, building your misery until one day, you will try to rip the flower off your chest - and find that in doing so, you’ve ripped your shrivelled up, blackened heart out as well.

In many ways, Goro thought, the old women in the village had very vivid imagination.

He understood the point of this part of the fable, of course. Entering the depths of the forest alone during the day was risky enough - going in during the night was downright dangerous. Even disregarding the very real threat of wolves and bears ready to protect their territory, there were monsters to worry about, too. For the night forest was an enchanted, magical place, quite unlike its daylight counterpart.

In the night, you’d find rusałki splashing merrily in the ponds and rivers or resting on tree branches overhead, calling for you to come and play with them. Licho would stalk you from tree to tree, waiting patiently until the feeling of being watched became too much. You’d turn around to see what it was that followed you and at that moment, Licho would jump out and - well, no one has ever seen Licho and lived to tell the tale. If you somehow fought off the urge to look at it, a mischievous ognik might try to lead you deep into the forest and leave you there, or you might stumble onto the clearing strewn with human bones where Baba Jaga had her hut.

No wonder, then, that people tried to dissuade their children from venturing too far into the night forest. For Goro, it didn’t carry as many perils, however.

He had always felt at home in the forest. For a lonely, poor woman raising a growing boy, it was the primary food source. Goro learned to climb its trees sooner than he walked and swam in its rivers before he could crawl. He’s seen Leszy, the king of the forest, and lived; he’d bathed with rusałki and listened to their stories, and had been let go. And though even he could do nothing but pray whenever he sensed Licho’s breath on his neck, he never turned around.

No, the terrors of the night forest and the prospect of having his heart destroyed by a flower didn’t dissuade Goro. If it meant he’d be getting his revenge… if it meant the king, his  _ father,  _ would suffer…

Goro’s hand came to his chest. His white shirt was unfastened, his collarbones clearly visible through the cut. He pressed a careful hand over the skin of his chest.

If all went well, tomorrow morning, he’d have a flower blooming here - and even if it meant his own destruction, he would get his revenge. With his hurting eyes, Goro watched the edge of the sun touch the horizon. Dusk started, and with it, his search for the flower began.

It was time to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
>   * Fern flower - an old Polish legend; a flower that blooms only once a year, during Kupalnocka, and will fulfill the wish of anyone who finds it. Famously destroys the people whose wishes are selfish and hearts impure.
>   * Rusałka - a Polish demon manifesting as a young woman. Rusałki are born of unmarried women, especially ones which died by drowning or hanging. They play pranks on young girls whom they are jealous of and try to tempt boys into joining them in their dances and games, after which they kill them by tickling them to death.
>   * Licho - one of the more influential and terrifying monsters in Polish mythology, Licho is the personification of all the misfortunes and suffering. Imagined as an old, starved, one-eyes woman, Licho goes from place to place, bringing misery everywhere it goes. It is the only demon in Polish folklore for which there is no protection, no countermeasure or method of fighting it. The only way for Licho to go away is to wait for it to get bored and leave on its own.
>   * Ognik - a small, bright creature in Polish folklore responsible for leading travellers astray with its light. A close cousin of will-o’-the-wisp.
>   * Baba Jaga - a hideous hag used often to scare Polish children even to this day. She lives in the depth of the forest in a hut on a chicken leg and abducts people - children for preference - in order to eat them.
>   * Leszy - in Polish folklore the king of the forest, a giant being whose height is always the same as the treeline in a place where he currently stays. Usually neutral towards humans, he might lead your way out of the forest and help children in gathering firewood or berries. If angered, especially by ones destroying his forest, he might set wild beasts at you or make you lose your way. Hunters and lumberjacks across Poland used to give sacrifices of livestock to Leszy in order to appease him.
> 



	3. The Night

There were no directions for finding the fern flower.

Of course, sometimes the old women would mention something about  _ the heart of the forest _ . Goro took that for stating the obvious. If the mythical flower could be found this easily, everyone would be running around with their wishes made real.

He took the path into the deepest, wildest parts of it, then, leaving the light and laughter of his fellow villagers behind.

By now, he was fairly far inside. The sun came down quickly - frustratingly so. Goro’s lantern wouldn’t last him long once lit, and so he saved it up, moving through the forest using what remaining light filtered through the trees. The farther he went, the less of it there was. Finally, Goro had to stop, for he was walking in complete darkness.

With a frustrated sigh, he reached out and found a convenient tree stump to sit on. He didn’t recognize this part of the forest - never went as far before during the night. Even so, Goro was fairly certain he wasn’t lost. There was a path, faint and winding between the ancient trees. As long as he stuck to it, he’d be able to return home.

As long as he could  _ see  _ it, of course. Goro pulled out the small lantern he brought and patted his pockets in search of flint.

He did it again, and then once more. He grabbed his bag and started to turn it inside out in search of the familiar, cold stone.

No. No, no, no, no, no. He packed it; he  _ must have  _ done, it and an extra one, in case the first got lost. Alas, his bag seemed devoid of it; besides his now useless lantern, it carried only a small knife, some food for the road and a few pieces of cloth. Why wasn’t his flint there? Was this magic?

Slowly, trying very hard not to let the panic set in - fear attracted Licho, and right now that was the last thing he wanted to deal with - Goro knelt on the path and gingerly felt it with his hands.

There was no path. All around him, the plush undergrowth of moss and flowers spread in all directions, interrupted only by the rough roots and bark. Goro cursed, moving in circles, trying to get back on the path. He was  _ just  _ on it; it couldn’t be too far from where he was now.

Half an hour later, sweaty and with his hands covered in mud and leaves, he had to admit the path was nowhere to be found.

Goro found the stump from before and sat down on it, listening gingerly to the surrounding forest and trying hard to calm his breath. It was strange, now he thought of it, how quiet and uneventful his trip so far was. Not even one rusałka called out to him to come and play; not even one ognik twinkled merrily at him from the distance, urging him to follow. Now, having to face the fact he was completely lost, the fortunate silence felt all the more sinister. As if the forest itself tried to lull him into a sense of security, bait him to go in further, only to lock him between its green walls and never let go. Goro’s hands squeezed into fists; he tried to think, to find some way out of this situation…

“Whatsit doing?” came a tiny, shrill voice somewhere from the vicinity of his feet. Goro stared; down among the moss, a little humanoid creature dressed in flower petals and moss stared up at him with huge, shining eyes. Another one stuck its head out from under the moss, then another one, and suddenly Goro was surrounded by at least a dozen miniature humans, all tilting their heads at him and poking at his legs.

“Whatsit doing here, he?” the one who spoke first asked, frowning up at Goro. “Whysit muddy gloom on a little night?”

Goro, the first shock slowly abating, leaned a bit further down to take a closer look at the tiny beings.

“Podziomki,” he breathed. The little people looked at one another and then, as one, started to hiss and wave their little fists at him.

“Whysit rude? Whysit call we so?” the - clearly - most talkative one said, and then, along with about two of his fellows spat Goro right in the face. Goro chuckled, wiping himself off and straightening up.

“I’m sorry!” he said. “I didn’t mean any harm. Is  _ krasnale _ better?” he asked. His mother used to tell him about those beings - podziomki, skrzaty, krasnale, they had many names. She was fond of them, though she never saw one; the memory made Goro smile, too. This - along with the new name - seemed to mollify his tiny companions a bit. Goro reached for the bread and cheese he had in his bag and shared it with the company and after that, all bad feelings were forgotten.

“I seem to have gone off-path in the dark,” he explained, while his new friends munched on the food. “Can you help me and lead me to it? Since I don’t suppose you know which way the fern flower is, do you.” 

Krasnale started to chatter in the funny language they spoke, getting quite excited when he mentioned his goal. Finally, one of them looked up at him and beckoned Goro to lean closer. He obliged.

“Its want flower, its walk by its own,” the krasnal said. “Its good to we, much good food we got. Its we help. Its sing a little night song, its flower finds.”

“...a song,” Goro repeated, raising an eyebrow. That… did not sound very helpful. It must have sounded extremely so to the tiny people around him, though, considering they burst into cheer and - after picking up what food they didn’t manage to devour up until now - disappeared once again in their hiding places under the moss.

Once more, Goro was left alone in the dark forest, with no idea where he was or where to go moving forwards. He looked around helplessly. Now - too late - he thought that instead of vague advice, he’d have done better to ask krasnale for some fire, so that with his lantern lit, he might have been able to find his way.

Speaking of fire…

Goro blinked, narrowing his eyes and trying to discern the faint flickering in the distance. He knew better than to run towards it right away - after all, there were swamps in this forest, and where there were swamps there were also ogniki, waiting to lead a careless traveller astray. This light, though… This didn’t seem to be the familiar yellow flickering Goro knew not to follow. It was more akin to the glow of a big fire reflected on the clouds - deep and golden-red and  _ real _ .

He was still thinking about the strange advice krasnale gave him, and perhaps because of it, unbidden, the lyrics of an old song - one his mother used to sing to him - came to his mind. Goro frowned and stood up, re-packing his bag and throwing it over his shoulder again.

“ _ Magic night, we all dance through; water dances, fire does too… _ huh,” he muttered, to no one in particular - and went on his way, eyes never leaving the distant glow.

Behind him, from under the moss, little heads stuck out again, bright eyes watching him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
>   * Krasnale (podziomki, skrzaty, ubożęta, krasnoludki) - a very prominent type of magical being in Polish folklore, krasnale lived - for preference - under the floors and thresholds of people’s huts. If treated well and given small offerings of food, during the night they’d help around the household, finishing unfinished tasks, cleaning and caring for livestock. Angered, they could cause all sorts of a nuisance, from pissing in milk to hurting and laming livestock. Appear in a multitude of Polish folk tales and legends.
> 



	4. The Fire

Goro wasn’t sure how long he walked. He gave up on trying to read the hour from the sky or the amount of light. He couldn’t see the sky for all the tree branches blocking the view, and what light was now showing his way seemed unnatural, as if it was coming out of the undergrowth itself.

Time flew differently in the night forest and all Goro could hope for was that he wasn’t too late and that dawn was still a while away.

He kept a steady course towards the fiery glow. At first, he wasn’t sure it was a very good choice on his part, but soon, the light seemed to be getting bigger, more defined. He started to feel warmer, too - it was as if the air itself turned to fire around him, crackling and bursting out into tiny explosions of light. Goro turned around in wonder, watching the display of dancing flames. They disappeared almost as soon as they flashed up in the air, but there were so many. Dancing around the trees, the living fire chittering and crackling merrily, somehow never causing any harm to the trees they darted around.

If anything, they seemed to be actively avoiding touching anything they could harm. Instead, the little burst of flame moved together with Goro, following his steps, heading towards the greater, brighter glow in front of them.

Just a moment’s walk more revealed to him what it was, in all of its grandeur.

Before Goro, who now stood in mute amazement, blazed a wall of fire. Flames taller than the largest trees raged in front of him in all their mighty fury, roaring and sending waves of heat that whipped against Goro’s face with an almost physical force. The smaller flames streamed towards it, joining into some strange, otherworldly dance of living fire. Goro’s eyes watered from the brightness of it; his lungs ached from the heat, his skin felt like it’s going to crackle and split any second now. Still, he remained where he stood.

He had to go through this. Without anything to go off on, that knowledge seemed to just appear in Goro’s head. If he wanted to get to the fern flower… if his wish was to be fulfilled… going back now was not an option anymore.

But then, neither did he want to be fried alive.

Sing a song, krasnale told him. What the hell had songs to say about this? There were so many, even just the ones sung exclusively on Kupalnocka, or  _ little night  _ as the creatures called it. And almost all of them had some lyrics about fire - surely, just singing a song was not going to let him get through?

Once again, the old song his mother loved so much came to the forefront of his mind. How did the lyrics go again?

Goro stared at the wall of flame.

“...darkness dies in holy fire, living heat, the flame climbs higher… well, that checks out,” he muttered, taking a hesitant step forward. And the next line…

“He who jumps, for whom flames part, he is one of purest heart,” he breathed and waited, expectantly. The flames didn’t seem to be in the mood for parting, however. Goro cursed.

“Look, I know perfectly well my heart is rotten,” he said, to no one in particular. “But I thought the deal was I get destroyed for it  _ after  _ my wish is fulfilled. Alright? So let me through already!”

The wall of flame remained where it was. In fact, Goro suspected it roared even more ferociously, as if mocking him. He went pale, his hands tightening into fists.

Well. This was going nowhere.

_ He who jumps _ … was he supposed to just… go for it?

Goro stared into the inferno. His rational brain proceeded to show him an extremely detailed image of what his body would end up looking like if he decided to go through it based on a  _ song _ .

But then… he didn’t really come here because of rational reasoning, did he? He was looking for a magical flower. He already gave up on his life in exchange for the wish he had.

If he dies now… Well, there wasn’t much difference between that and turning back, was there?

Goro took a deep breath and closed his eyes. An image of his mother flashed behind his eyelids. In the roaring fire, he could almost hear her voice, singing the song to him.

He jumped.


	5. The Water

When Goro came to, he was laying on a soft, pliant bed of moss.

The memories of the last few minutes flashed painfully bright in front of his eyes. He quickly patted over his body, searching for burns.

There didn’t seem to be any.

The forest around him was completely dark. There was no sign of the wall of fire, no sound of roaring flame. Indeed, the opposite was the case. Now his confusion started to clear up a bit, Goro noticed he was laying on a bank of a stream, the clear water lapping merrily at the low-hanging plants. The air was fresh and crisp, and the little spot Goro was in seemed to be lit by the clearest starlight, even though overhead, the trees continued to block out the sky completely.

Goro sat up, trying to get a better feel of his surroundings.

There was something odd about the stream, he decided. Dipping his hand into it, Goro discovered the water was ice-cold, the current much stronger than he expected - but that was all quite normal. What was  _ not  _ normal was the fact the water flew in the wrong direction. The ground here tilted a bit, signifying Goro was at the foot of a hill - and the water was decisively flowing upstream.

Goro stared. He could feel his brain struggle to cope with the idea, rationalize it in some way, and then give up. He wasn’t going to be able to understand this and, right now, he was just tired and overwhelmed enough he didn’t really care.

“Alright. So what now?” he asked himself, looking up and down the stream. There, by a large stone, something laid on the ground. It looked like… well, if Goro had to be entirely honest, it looked like flower crowns. Or wreaths made out of herbs, at least. He recognized mugwort, sage, burdock and rue; the yellow flowers of St John’s wort and mullein as well as the white of chamomile.

A little night wreath. The same his mother would weave and hang in their little cottage to frighten away bad spirits. The same he’d see the girls from the village weave every Kupalnocka, in the hope the boy they fancied would fish it out of the river and return their affections.

Slowly, as if in a dream, Goro took one of the wreaths and grabbed for his bag, pulling out the useless lantern and taking the candle out of it, affixing it in the middle of the wreath instead.

This time, when he looked for his flint, it was exactly where it should be.

He wasn’t even surprised anymore.

He lit the candle and carefully placed the wreath on the water surface, watching the current take it.

“ _ River, river, holy flow, carry please my wreath down low, _ ” Goro said, in a hoarse voice. He started to walk along the stream, following his wreath. His legs felt heavy, the treck uphill was strenous. With every step, his breath became shorter, the mind more clouded; he was covered with sweat.

He saw the stream flow, in a gorgeous arch, over the top of the hill, flowing steadily down into the little valley below. The candle on his wreath flickered and disappeared; Goro picked up his pace, afraid that if he loses sight of it he’ll lose his chance-

And then, his foot caught on a root and he fell, rolling down the opposite side of the hill with a surprised yelp. Something hard and decisively  _ static  _ hit him right in the stomach and he stopped, groaning into the bark of the tree he just collided with.

Beside him, the stream - now flowing properly downstream - bubbled happily, carrying his wreath all the way down to the gorgeous little pond in the middle of the clearing. And there…

Goro stared. In the pool, knee-deep in the water, there stood a man. Only… Only he didn’t seem a man at all. His hair was white, strewn over his head in a mass of disarrayed curls; his eyes, when he turned to looked at Goro, were golden and shining like two stars. His whole body was shining, in fact - giving off ethereal light that only amplified the softness of the skin. He was wearing nothing but an intricate outfit woven from fern leaves and delicate, silver flowers, as immaterial as mist.

He was the most beautiful man Goro has ever seen in his life; a sight so breathtaking it, for just a moment, entirely overturned his whole world.

Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, Goro watched the gorgeous creature smile and look down at the wreath which just bumped against his legs. Slowly he bent down and picked it up, carefully taking out the candle and placing the wreath over his white curls. In Goro’s head, the song resounded once more.

_ And the boy for whom waves part _

_ Takes my wreath, he takes my heart _


	6. The Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some non-explicit sexual content in this chapter

Goro had always considered himself a rather eloquent, intelligent man.

At least, that’s how he liked to think of himself. Despite being born poor, his mother taught him to read, write and count. He could partake in discussion with the oldest and most experienced people from the village, often coming out victorious. Indeed, his wit and sharp tongue earned him quite a reputation.

Now, however, sitting there hugging a tree, covered in mud, sweat and some blood seeping from the few cuts he gathered along the way, he felt entirely speechless.

The beautiful being in the pond was looking at him, his golden eyes creased in amusement. Slowly, every movement filled with elegance and grace, he walked up onto the shore and towards Goro’s tree, reaching a hand towards him.

Mutely, Goro took it, feeling his knees grow a little weak at how perfectly soft and lovely that hand felt in his own. The stranger chuckled and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Goro’s forehead. Suddenly, Goro felt all of his tiredness disappear, along with the dirt and sweat and blood which covered him not a second ago. He felt a little better for that.

“It’s been quite a while, since I’ve seen any of your kind here,” the stranger said. His voice was clear, rumbling deep in Goro’s chest, confusing him even more. He wasn’t sure where he was or why; for just this one moment, he forgot everything. The whole world turned upside down, became suddenly,  _ gloriously  _ crazy. Goro was still staring, allowing the alluring creature to sit him down on the moss, opposite from him. Feeling daring, he reached out and took the stranger’s hands in his own.

“...my kind?” Goro managed to ask. The stranger smiled at him again.

“A human,” he said, caressing the palm of Goro’s hand with his thumb. “So many search for me, but so few find their way. You must have gone through quite some trials to get here, too…”

Something in Goro’s mind clicked and, suddenly, he felt his thoughts clear a little. In a much stronger voice, he asked.

“You… you’re the fern flower, aren’t you?”

The stranger frowned at him.

“That,  _ or  _ you could be civil and actually call me by my name,” he huffed. “It’s Ren. Now would be the time to tell me yours.”

“It’s… it’s Goro,” he said, squeezing Ren’s hands gently. “I  _ will  _ call you by your name, but… I’m right, am I not? That  _ is  _ what you are.”

“What, you expected just a flower?” Ren’s perfect lips twisted in a small grimace. Goro shook his head, laughing a breathless laugh.

“No, I- I mean, yes, sort of,” he said. “And… you fulfil wishes?”

“That part’s real, too,” Ren answered, looking even more displeased. Goro didn’t care. Ren was lovely; he was everything Goro would have wanted, if he was given a second wish. But now he had come this far, given up this much… he was not going to be diverted. He needed; he  _ must  _ get the flower to grant his wish before dawn came, before it’s too late. Ren looked at him and pulled his hands away, regarding Goro’s determined, feverish face thoughtfully. Then, he grinned - a rather devilish, dangerous grin.

“All of it’s true, you know,” the creature purred, reaching one hand to rest it over Goro’s chest. He could feel something strange against his skin and saw  _ roots.  _ Thread-thin strands bloomed out of Ren’s hand, pressing insistently against the skin of Goro’s chest, looking for a way in. He looked back; Ren’s golden eyes shone bright, filled with intent.

“You can tell me your wish,” the flower said, taking his hand away. “And I will judge your heart and set the price for it. You have found me, so I am powerless to defy your wish; it will come true, no matter what. But if I deem your heart rotten and your wish unjust… you know what will happen to you, don’t you?” Ren’s grin turned wider; a row of sharp, white teeth shone between his lips.

“I’ll destroy you, a bit at a time. You’ll be locked in a cage of your own desires, powerless to get out. Little by little, you will lose everything; until not even a sliver of hope remains. And once that is done, you will try and tear me away, pull my roots out of your body… and you will find that with them, you’ve ripped out your own black, shrivelled-up heart. And I’ll be with you, up until those last few, miserable moments; and I’ll  _ feast _ .”

“That’s fine,” Goro said, and watched as - to his great satisfaction - Ren’s grin fell and a clear expression of surprise came on his face. The flower leaned back, staring at him.

“...fine?” he asked. Goro shrugged, giving him a sharp grin of his own.

“What? Expected me to cry from fright and decide to go home? I don’t care what happens to me. As long as my wish is fulfilled, you can eat my heart or whatever it is you do. I don’t mind, see? I know my heart is rotten and my wish is ugly at best. So feel free to do your worst.”

Ren was staring at him. Then, he crossed his arms over his chest and let out a long, thoughtful hum.

“Well, well… colour me impressed,” he said. “I suppose the usual  _ I want to be rich and powerful  _ will not be in order, then.”

The flower nodded, a gentle smile once more playing on his lips.

“Go on, then,” he said. “Tell me your wish.”

Goro took a deep breath and started to speak.

He told Ren everything. About his childhood, marked with poverty and despair; about his mother, who tried her best for the both of them, but eventually lost with her circumstances. Of the father, who was the source of all their misery; the cruel, ruthless man who discarded her the moment he found out she was with child.

And, finally, of his wish - for his father to be punished for what he’s done to her. For him to experience all the pain, all the misery she did; for him to fully understand just what he’d done and bear the consequences.

“If I get to specify,” Goro finished, his fists clenched tight on his lap. “I’d like to watch him go through it all. I want to hear every simpering apology, see every second of his suffering. After that… I don’t care what happens. You can do with me what you want.”

Throughout the story, Ren watched him in silence, allowing the human to talk uninhibited. Now, the flower straightened up, a slow, almost tender smile blooming on his lips.

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “But then… if it’s your mother you wish to avenge, your mother you’re doing it all for… wouldn’t you rather make a different wish?”

Goro watched the flower’s face transform once more, his lips grow taunt as they stretched in a dangerous, toothy grin.

“If you’re so ready to die, why not wish for me to destroy the very root of your mother’s misery? After all… you’ve said it yourself. Was it not for her carrying you under her heart… she could have still…”

Goro shrugged; once again nonplussed by what was certainly an attack; a test.

“No,” he answered simply. “You know why? Because that was my mother’s choice. She told me as much, once, a long time ago. A woman doesn’t need a magical flower to get rid of an unwanted pregnancy. She made a choice not to. You’re right - I think she’d have been happier if I was never born. I’m a cursed existence, only bringing pain and suffering to those around me - I knew that for a long time. But she made the choice to bring me to life anyway. I have taken her happiness, her future, her  _ life  _ away from her - I would never take away the last thing she had left. I’d never just erase her choice.”

Again - the surprise, the shift of the wild expression into something softer, more intimate. Ren closed his eyes; for a moment, there was silence between them, spreading through the quiet clearing like a mist.

And then, Ren’s eyes opened, looking right into Goro’s own.

“Your wish will come true,” he said. Five words - five simple, quiet words spoken in a matter-of-fact tone - and Goro’s whole world shift. Suddenly, he felt light-headed. All the trials, all the emotions of the night tumbled over him in this one, overwhelming moment of relief.

It was done. He’ll get what he came for. His mother will be avenged. Everything that happens from then on… what did it matter? He felt happy; so ridiculously happy he could laugh.

It will finally be over. And the way it ends - he honestly didn’t mind.

“So what’s the price?” he asked, unable to stop a smile that bloomed on his lips. He didn’t really care, past simple curiosity. Will Ren ask to devour his heart? Will he drive his roots through Goro’s chest, entangle himself around him, force him to be his living, breathing soil? Will he destroy him right away, rip the soul out of his body?  _ It didn’t matter _ . Goro was ready for it all.

“You’ve set the price quite high yourself,” Ren said. With great care, he reached out once more, taking Goro’s hand in his. “You’ve decided it was worth your life, all on your own. In that case… that is what I will ask for.”

Ren guided Goro’s hand to press between the fern leaves, against his soft, glowing skin; press right under his stomach and hold firmly there.

“A life for a life,” Ren whispered, his face suddenly inches from Goro’s own. “Make one bloom within me, Goro… and your price will be paid. You will be set free.”

Goro had to retract his previous statement.

He was  _ not  _ prepared for  _ that _ .

Protests arose in his throat, everything from  _ but you’re a man  _ to  _ I thought you were going to destroy me _ \- but, in the end, nothing came out. Goro simply looked; watched as Ren moved away from him, walking gracefully across the small pond, onto a soft bed of moss on the other side. He laid there, his light shining like a beacon, waiting for him; not forceful, not rushing anywhere.

Goro’s own thoughts came back to haunt him.

_ If I had a second wish _ , he thought, slowly getting up to his feet as well.  _ This is what I’d have wished for _ .

Goro walked towards the flower as if in a dream. He untied the rest of his shirt, letting it fall onto the ground, then did the same with the rest of his clothes. He should have felt shy, he supposed, kneeling down on the moss over Ren’s gorgeous body - but there was no shyness or shame. Only wonder as he trailed his trembling hands over Ren’s skin, pushing the leaves that covered him away. 

Ren flushed, warm and surprisingly human, and Goro found all of his inhibitions, all the doubts at the back of his mind give way to  _ want _ . He leaned down, his body hovering over Ren’s own, and pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss.

The flower shuddered under him and then responded in kind, and Goro felt his head spin with how good it felt, how  _ right _ .

He didn’t rush anywhere and Ren didn’t urge him to, either. Slowly, careful not to hurt the delicate being, Goro trailed his kisses over Ren’s cheeks, his forehead, his nose. He nipped a playful trail down his throat and sucked a small mark into his collarbone - a token of belonging he really wasn’t at liberty to give. The leaves covering Ren’s skin unfurled and fell off somewhere along the way and Goro moved back to watch his flower, bare and open under him, eyes wide and filled with longing.

“...what is it?” Ren finally asked, reaching out to pull him close again. Goro shook his head and allowed it, pressing soft kisses over the expanse of Ren’s shoulders.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, smiling when he noticed the flush his compliment caused. Ren gasped and shifted restlessly under him, pressing himself against Goro’s body.

“Go on-” he mumbled, shivering under Goro’s touch. The human kissed him on the lips again, ran soothing hands down Ren’s sides.

“There’s no rush,” he murmured into the kiss. “Shhh… Let me go slow. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ren looked at him then in a strange way; surprised, almost frightened, heartachingly tender. Goro wondered what that look meant. All he knew, at this moment, was that Ren had lied to him.

There was no way he could lay together with him and see that look on Ren’s face and ever be free again.

They didn’t speak after that - there were no words for them to speak. Ren opened to him so willingly, Goro couldn’t help himself but be gentle and caring with him, showing the flower he was the right person to bare himself to in this way. He was careful, patient; took his time to discover and worship every bit of Ren’s body, driving all sorts of delighted sounds out of him.

When it came time for Goro’s touches to become more heated, more purposeful in their intentions, Ren trembled like a leaf in his arms, clearly surprised by his own body’s reactions. Goro was there for him; calmed him, led him, guided him open and pliant for what was to come. Until Ren was coming to completion in his arms and gasping and begging for more before he even had the chance to calm down.

So Goro gave him more, caressed and kissed and touched him everywhere. Ren was so obviously inexperienced, so confused and then delighted by everything Goro was doing, but he was a graceful student, too. Before he knew it, Goro was the one gasping in his lover’s arms, getting lost in a whirlwind of pleasure and curious touches and intent, golden eyes.

By the time they finally joined into one, Ren once again laying down, his eyes wide and vulnerable for Goro to drink in, it didn’t feel like a strange meeting with a magical being anymore. It was more like two souls finding one another amidst the starry abyss; it felt like coming home. Ren reached for him, clung to him, as if afraid Goro would let go, and Goro knew at that moment he felt the same.

They belonged there, like this, together. Under the starry sky, naked and lost in one another, together, they were home.

It was that thought that brought him to completion, moaning Ren’s name into his lover’s lips. He felt Ren shudder and come in tandem with him, his hold on Goro tightening and then slowly relaxing. They laid there together, surrounded by the most beautiful of summer nights, their breaths mingling in between lazy, satisfied kisses.

And then, with grace and vitality Goro couldn’t help but find beautiful, Ren rolled them over, straddling his hips.

“Again,” he said, his lovely golden eyes smiling down at him - and what could Goro do but obey?


	7. The Wish

Goro woke up to the warmth of the sun caressing his cheek.

At first, he didn’t know it was the sun. The night’s events fresh on his mind, Goro smiled, opening his eyes and expecting to see Ren there. What he saw were trees, a stream, his bag placed neatly on a mossy stump.

He was alone.

Slowly, his muscles sore and body extremely tired despite having just woken up, Goro looked around the small clearing he was laying in. He recognized the place - it was the one he and his mother often came to pick wild strawberries in. He was maybe ten minutes away from the edge of the forest, fifteen away from the village. But… surely…

Something cold and smooth slid down his arm. Goro looked down, staring at a single flower - delicate and shining with silver light - as it fell out of his shirt’s sleeve and onto his palm. Before his eyes, it caught the sunlight and for a moment burnt bright and beautiful, and then faded and wilted into nothing.

So then… it wasn’t a dream, was it?

Slowly, still feeling rather dazed, Goro stood up, picked up his bag and went home. Without speaking, without responding to anyone’s greeting, he walked straight there and fell onto his bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He woke up a day and a night later and by then, everything he went through truly felt like nothing more than a dream.

* * *

Days passed in silence, each of them the same, merging together into a blur of time. Goro left his empty little hut at dawn, renting his strength to any farmer who needed help with the harvest. He came back late each night, tired and slipping into a dreamless sleep.

Some people told him he had changed, ever since coming home after the last Kupalnocka. Some people asked what he found during his night there in the forest. Goro never had an answer to that. Dream and reality wove together like two columns of smoke, intermingling and obscuring each other.

He wasn’t sure what he saw. He wasn’t sure what had happened to him, that night. There was a pair of golden eyes haunting him, a memory of lips pressed against his, that ignited some powerful longing deep within his chest. But beyond that… who could really tell?

The harvest went on and as it did, Goro found his fortune improved. His employers were happy with his work; he was given food and more money than he asked for. Soon, he was able to work a little less, live a little more. In the evenings, the men in the village who’d scorn him when his mother was still alive now invited him to go to the tavern with them and bought him drinks.

By the end of summer, Goro was able to buy new clothing and move into a slightly bigger cottage in the village, one left empty after a local craftsman moved to the city in order to seek better fortune for himself. The cottage had a small workshop in it and Goro found, to his own surprise, his hands were exceptionally clever when it came to turning wood into ornaments, toys and furniture. Soon, he didn’t need to work out in the fields at all.

Every night, he left a bit of milk, bread, cheese and honey down on a small plate on the floor. He’s never seen krasnale in the house, but someone took the food each night, and the work he’d leave unfinished that day would wait for him, all done, the next morning. Goro wished he could tell them this wasn’t needed, really - he had a distinct feeling he had a debt of gratitude towards the little people.

Yes, his life certainly turned for the better. He was young, had his own business and slowly but surely growing means. He didn’t go hungry or cold anymore. Even the other people in the village were starting to truly respect him, treat him as one of their own.

It was everything a good, honest boy could want from life - but it wasn’t what Goro had wished for.

Until, that was, one November night near Zaduszki, when a group of five travellers visited their village.

They were all strangers, all coming from far away, on horseback. Their clothes were attempting to look inconspicuous, but in a poor village like their own, the cut and quality of the material spoke of immense wealth. And they were looking for someone, they said - riding from village to village in search of a young man, aged twenty or a little more.

From the first time he saw them, Goro knew who they were and what they were looking for.

Once again, feeling distinctly like he was in a dream, he watched the strangers recognize in him the young prince they were searching for. Like in a dream, he listened to their feverish appeals for him to join them, to return to the Capital and lead the coup against his cruel father. Everything was already in place, they told him; the most powerful people in the city came together in opposition to king Shido’s tyrannical rule. All they needed was someone to lead them, to take over the reign. A whisper; a rumour told of the rightful prince hidden away, escaped in his mother’s womb to hide among common people - and so they searched, and finally found him.

Surely, Prince Goro wouldn’t refuse his faithful servants now?

He didn’t; he allowed them to dress him and put him on a horse he somehow now knew how to ride, and lead him back to the Capital, to more people like them who bowed to him and called him a prince. He listened to their plans and their advice, effortlessly saw through the efforts of influencing him for their own gain and identified the people who were with him heart and soul, people he could trust. And yet, in the midst of all the planning and preparation to take the throne, Goro didn’t feel very real. Each time he looked up from another map, turned away from another messenger giving his report, all he could see were golden eyes and soft, porcelain-like skin, growing warm and flushed under his touch.

He ran away from those visions; denied their power over him. Determined in fulfilling his duty, prince Goro walked away from the spell Ren put over him. Dressed in silks and armour, with a sword by his belt, he led his followers through the city, through the open castle gates, through the corridors filled with his father’s guards now happily saluting him.

Not one person put up a fight. Not a single being had been hurt. And when Goro finally walked into the throne room and saw his father drop to his knees before him, begging for his forgiveness like a broken man robbed of his sane mind, Goro knew that his wish had come true.

It was done - and now he had everything he ever wanted.

And he had never in his life felt as empty as that.


	8. The Heart

Ruling the whole country was, to Goro’s genuine surprise, a rather dull job.

He could see now why so many kings in history went mad or turned into inhumane sadists sometime during their reign. After yet another tedious meeting with yet another set of advisors, Goro himself sometimes wondered how nice it would be, to pull out a sword and cut off the incessantly chattering heads.

If it wasn’t for his self-assigned task of being at least a better king than his father was, he might have done it by now. It was really hard to say.

Even after just a few months of his rule, though, it turned out he  _ was  _ a rather good king. After Shido’s tyrannical rule came to an end and the man himself stood trial for everything he’s done, Goro found his hands were full trying to somehow fix the damage his father had left in his wake. The royal coffers were filled with gold, that was true, but the people were poor, the strong feasted on the weak and the country suffered. The uncharacteristically mild winter gave some relief to the common folk’s usual plight, but Goro couldn’t rely on good luck to help him forever.

And so, he got to work. Alone, he could do very little;  _ knew  _ very little of the world. So his first move was to find people who knew more. He created groups of advisors of all kinds - for preference, people of entirely different opinions and views of the world - and made a point of attending every meeting and reading through every report they gave him, until from the chaos of ideas, solutions started to appear.

In ceaseless effort and through hard work, they all found more people, more ways to help and keep the country safe. Suddenly, there were trips to make and places to visit; projects that needed supervision, signs of revolts that needed resolving. Goro spent the first spring months mostly in his carriage and by the time he came back to his castle, the first fruits of his labours were starting to show. As days grew longer and spring flew into summer, Goro saw his people look up from their misery and turn to the future with hope rather than despair. His advisors praised him and celebrated and made even bigger, grander plans; and yet, more and more often, Goro found himself distracted from the joy which surrounded him now.

More and more often he’d look out of his castle’s open windows, towards the horizon, waiting to see the sun start to set. Counting down the days until the shortest night of the year; the little night.

Sometimes, in the last, dying rays of the sun or the whisper of the wind, he’d hear something. A call; a plea, filled with yearning, a note only he among all the living creatures could understand. His closest advisors would comment then: his highness is somewhere far away.

The night before Kupalnocka, Goro decided to heed the call.

Of course, the king of the country couldn’t just get on a horse and ride away into the sunset. Goro knew this - which is why he got on a horse and rode away into midnight instead. He snuck past his guards, leaving only a letter with a vague explanation on his pillow. He saddled his favourite horse himself and dressed in his old, comfortable clothes. By the time someone had noticed his disappearance and sounded the alarm, he was long gone, galloping down the riverbank, feeling wild and free from the first time in forever.

His village was just the same as he remembered it, and he was welcomed with laughter and joy. The innkeeper at the tavern -  _ King’s Stay  _ it was named, now - had given him food and drink free of charge, and offered his best room for the night, too. Goro accepted the refreshments but politely refused the room. He had somewhere to be tonight, he said, and the common folk who still set out plates of food for krasnale and knew not to follow ogniki’s light understood him perfectly well.

Once again, a year later, as the villagers gathered wood for sobótki and the girls wove their wreaths, Goro walked alone to the edge of the forest and entered it without fear.

There was no darkness waiting for him, this time. No fire, no water; no magic except for the most powerful, deep magic of a loving heart. Though he didn’t know where he was going, Goro allowed his legs to carry him forward, off the path and through the thickening forest.

He found the tree stump he once sat at, looking for a flint; he said hello to krasnale who once again poked out their heads from under the moss and waved at him cheerfully. He passed the clearing on which once the wall of flame roared and walked past the small stream that once flew up.

A wall of trees, of thick, interwoven branches and lichen parted before him to let him pass, right into the heart of the forest. Even before he saw him, he heard Ren’s laughter - and then he felt his flower wrap his arms around him and pull him close, felt his lips press against his own - and finally, after a year of yearning, everything was  _ right _ .

“You came for me,” Ren said once they parted, still just as beautiful as Goro remembered him. The human felt a genuine smile stretch his lips as he nodded, taking Ren’s hands in his own.

“You have lied to me, Ren,” he said, watching confusion bloom on his beloved’s face. “You’ve told me I will be free, if I paid your price.”

Understanding took confusion’s place. Ren’s hands squeezed his own.

“Do you wish to be free?” Ren asked. Goro shook his head and pulled him into his arms again. Ren laughed, the sound of his laughter filling the air with the loveliest of tunes.

“How queer…” Ren said, cupping Goro’s face in his hands and smiling at him, peppering kisses over his cheeks and nose. “For you, to so readily forfeit your freedom. And to do so at the same time as you give me  _ mine _ …”

“...what?” Goro stared and watched Ren laugh again. His flower moved away from him, leading him by the hand deeper into the clearing. It was the same as Goro remembered it - with the stream pooling into a beautiful pond, moss covering its banks. Only, this time, wherever he looked, there were…

“Are they not beautiful?” Ren smiled, leaning his head on Goro’s shoulders. The flowers - just like the one Goro had found on his hand one morning a year ago - scattered over the clearing, little bursts of white and silver light on the fresh green of grass. Ren pulled Goro closer to himself and squeezed his arm, his eyes closing as he explained.

“A fern flower… that’s what you humans call beings like me. You know that we only appear on the shortest night of the year; know we will fulfil your wish should you find us. You - some of you, at least - also know the price.”

Ren’s smile turned softer; his hand came up, resting over Goro’s rapidly beating heart.

“What you do not know is what a curse it is, to be one such as myself. All our lives we sleep; in the few hours of little night, we wait, desperately, for a pure-hearted human to come to us, give us a wish we will be happy to fulfil. Give us a reason to trust, to believe… to give ourselves over.” 

Ren’s eyes met Goro’s. In starlight streaming into the clearing, he watched Ren’s irises turn from gold to silver; watched the otherworldly light bleed out from his skin and midnight black taint his snow-white hair. The flower’s hand grew warm in Goro’s own - a decisively human-like flush painted Ren’s cheeks.

“There is only one way for a fern flower to earn his freedom,” Ren whispered, bringing his warm, human hands up and wrapping them around Goro’s shoulders. “To plant more. Then - if, and only  _ if  _ our human would have us… we can be  _ free _ .”

Slowly, his movement full of grace, Ren dropped to his knees in front of Goro. His eyes looked up at him, silver and open, filled with gentle affection that somehow felt more intimate than anything they’ve ever done before. Bringing Goro’s hands to his lips, Ren pressed a gentle kiss to his palms.

“So now the question is,” he said, smiling up. “Will you take me for your own, Goro, king of our beautiful country? Will you keep me, for better and worse, in sickness and in health, until death - that greatest mystery you were so prepared to receive from my hands - tears us apart again?”

In the enchanted clearing, surrounded by blooming fern flowers, Goro Akechi dropped to his knees and bowed his head. Dream and reality, reality and dream; wishes fulfilled and never spoken, coming true all the same.

Once upon a time, as a little child, Goro listened to his mother tell him a story - a story of a boy who found the fern flower and lost his heart.

Only now did he realize the story was true - just not in the painful, gritty way he was used to hearing it.

There were many ways to lose one’s heart, after all.

“I don’t need to take you,” Goro said, meeting his beloved’s eyes. “You have always been mine, and I have always been yours.”


End file.
